


The Sweetness of You on My Tongue

by dandyli0n



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: (like lowkey but just in case), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Smoking, as the work updates so will the tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandyli0n/pseuds/dandyli0n
Summary: Chan is a Nice Guy. Chan is a Handsome Guy. Chan isnota commitment guy, however. And seven boys unfortunately have to find out the hard way.or: Everyone Is A Little Bit In Love With Chan: The Fic
Relationships: Bang Chan/Everyone, Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han, Bang Chan/Hwang Hyunjin, Bang Chan/Kim Seungmin, Bang Chan/Lee Felix, Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	The Sweetness of You on My Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello. This work was inspired by a lovely person on Twitter, [this thread in particular.](https://twitter.com/SUBBYBlNNlE/status/1347717863516250114?s=20) I do stray away from it at times but I couldn't have written this without them <3 you SHOULD know that they both rock AND roll, that's how cool they are.
> 
> Inspiration for fic AND title is [this little song right here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzueOh-d15M).
> 
> Each member will get their own chapter eventually! Everyone will get to enjoy the spotlight. It's not as sad as the tags might make it look though! Most of them get their own kinds of happy endings by the end <3

Minho meets him at a party organized by his dance team. They absolutely  _ killed _ their last performance just a day before, and there's still this restless energy in his chest, spreading all the way to the tips of his fingers. It makes him laugh louder, smile wider; swing his hips to the rhythm of the music with less restraint than he would usually allow himself to. He's on top of the world.

So when Felix comes over with a pout and a puppy dog look, asking him if he could "man the bar", aka watch over the kitchen and try not to let anyone die, he doesn't even mind; the usual flash of annoyance he feels when asked for favors barely even registering. He just gives Felix an uneven smile (not quite a smirk but not really a normal smile) and gets up off the couch he was sitting on.

"Don't get blackout drunk while I'm not here to watch you," he teases, touching Felix's side briefly as he passes by him.

Felix just laughs - they both know he's a good kid; too good, even. Every time the two of them end up at a party together, even if it's one as tame as the ones the dance team throws, Minho has this irrational fear that the next day he'll wake up to the news of something horrible having happened to the boy. He's not sure what he would do if it ever happened; if something corrupted the ray of sunshine that was Lee Felix.

You could say Minho was protective of his teammates, even though he tried not to let it show too much. He let himself be affectionate and helpful, but he made sure to keep it at that. In the privacy of his mind, he could admit to himself that he would gladly beat the life out of anyone who hurt them, but he didn't need them to  _ know that _ . They didn't need to think about things like that - especially Felix, whose life seemed to consist of Tiktok dances, brownies and video games.

It made him almost feel insecure sometimes - he never really blamed Felix for it, but seeing him so happy, tackling life with optimism and this childlike passion… he wished life was this easy for him. He wishes he didn't have to think about the bad shit, that his brain would shut up and he wouldn't have to watch out every single second of his life. Threats were everywhere, and Minho was hyper-aware of that fact. The fact that he was one of those threats didn't help the matter. He knows to keep an eye on what he's drinking, who he's talking to, who he's getting drunk around, who's too much trouble to hold a conversation with even out of politeness and which part of himself he has to hide to stay protected.

It's exhausting - part of why he doesn't really go out that much anymore. Staying in his dorm is easier, safer. There he can take a pill or two to finally shut his brain up for a few hours, lay on the floor and watch his life go slowly down the drain as he ignores coursework in favor of making it through another day. He barely studies anymore unless Felix and Hyunjin bring him out with them to a study date and he has to at least  _ pretend _ to focus to seem like the put-together upperclassman he wants to be. Things have somehow been working out for him so far, though - maybe because the teachers think he's a good kid like Felix; they trust his bullshit excuses and listen to his pleas for deadline extensions. He doesn't really want to drop out - he'll lose the dance team if he drops out, and he doesn't know how he'd survive without them anymore.

Minho slips into the kitchen with a heaviness in his stomach he doesn't think he will be able to shake for the rest of the night. There goes his good mood.

His eyes are glued to the floor as he's lost in thought, so the unrestrained laughter that explodes right in front of him takes him by surprise. He snaps his head up, just to watch two guys shoving at each other in front of him, both laughing like crazy - both are  _ built _ , and wearing sleeveless shirts that show that off, one of them with full sleeve tattoos on both arms, intricate and colorful, the other one with no ink visible on what's exposed of his skin, but with the unmistakable, slightly sweet aroma clinging to him that clues Minho in that this is not one of Hyunjin's squeaky clean athlete friends.

Minho would bet everything he has on Felix being the one who invited these two - the kid is honestly too nice, there's no such thing as "bad news" in his vocabulary. If you're nice to Felix, then you're a good person in Felix's eyes, even if you're sucking the souls out of people the second he turns away. He almost hopes the tatted up one is a gang member; at least they would have a fun story to tell.

He pushes past them as they keep throwing playful insults at each other, points a confused-looking guy towards the unopened pack of plastic cups and pours himself a rum and coke to sip on - it's more rum than coke, but he knows himself and his limits well enough to know he won't be getting drunk anytime soon. Then he leans against the counter, pulls out his phone and gets ready to look up cute cat videos the second the misery starts getting a little too much to handle.

The first notification on his phone is a text from his dealer, and under it are the 17 messages Hyunjin has sent into their group chat with Felix, explaining why he's going to be late to the party - it seems to sum up the double life he's been leading lately quite well. He ignores both notifications in favor of pulling up his Instagram feed to idly scroll through, and somehow that feels symbolic of something as well.

What would Felix be doing if he was here instead? Making friends with the guy pouring 12 cups of sangria in the corner? Asking the guy covered in tattoos about the backstory of each of them? He definitely wouldn't be hiding his face in a cup, hoping everyone just leaves him alone. God, he's so…

" _ Wow _ ." 

Minho startles, the voice entirely too loud and entirely too close to his ear. He moves away from it, putting his phone in his pocket to stop the urge to shove at whoever just butted into his personal space like that.

He comes face to face with what  _ seems to be _ the no-tats buff guy from just a minute ago. The smooth pale arms are… definitely there. So is a very nicely cut jaw. A pretty mouth. A…

"You're so hot, you made me forget my pickup line."

A really bad sense of humor, apparently. In the guy's defense, he smells even more like weed from up close and his pupils are wide, eyes a little red and glassy and his pretty mouth is hanging open in a grin that's a little too loose to really be flattering. For a second Minho feels himself hyperfixating on the dimple forming on one side of it, trying to determine whether it swings the balance of his face back to cute.

Before he can really figure it out, the grin pulls itself together tighter and the guy starts laughing.

"I didn't expect to make you speechless too, gorgeous." He sounds almost smug, like that's a complete  _ lie _ .

Minho meets his eyes, trying to find a way to let him know how little he’s interested in flirting with  _ anyone  _ tonight without seeming like an asshole.

"I was just trying to figure out how high you are," he settles on, just lightly judgemental like he assumes the nice guy he's supposed to be should be. Then he downs more rum and coke just in case the answer is  _ very _ and this conversation is about to take a turn.

The guy laughs some more, almost sounds embarrassed this time. "Am I that obvious?" His eyes seem a little less wild and a lot more…  _ soft _ . It's… a good look on him.

Looking away for his own sanity, Minho shrugs. "The pick up line was honestly the biggest clue."

"Well. They're not  _ supposed _ to be good, right? It's about making a strong first impression." From the corner of his eye, Minho sees him tilt his head, clearly looking for eye contact again. Minho doesn't play along. "You seemed  _ impressed _ ."

"I didn't see you coming, you scared me." Minho is shocked by how defensive he sounds; like he’s just playing coy with the guy, even though he  _ did _ actually startle the crap out of him.

"Sorry about that. You just seemed pretty miserable over here, and I won't let anyone this good looking look that sad on my watch."

He blinks, tries hard not to roll his eyes. "You realize how shallow you sound right now, right?"

There's some shifting next to him as the guy makes himself comfortable, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "There's only so much of me - I have to have standards."

The snort comes before Minho can stop it. To make up for it, he looks back at him, makes the mistake to make eye contact with the forearms he's putting on display before actually meeting his eyes. He ends up responding while almost helplessly tracing the defined line of a vein down to the back of his hand. "Do I still look miserable?"

He doesn't have to look up to see the slow, pleased smile spread across the guy's face, but he looks up and meets his eyes anyway.

"No, you don't."

"Then you're done with your civic duty already?" He can't indulge this dude, nice arms or not. Minho may not be a blushing virgin, and it  _ has _ been too long since he's felt like putting in all the effort he's had to put in recently to get laid, but Dance Club Leader Minho Lee does not do hook ups. Definitely not at his dance team’s parties. Sleeping with someone at a party Felix and Hyunjin are at would feel like fucking with a pet in the room. Just… too  _ wrong _ .

"Mhm," the affirmative hum he gets is too happy for his gentle rejection to have worked, he knows it already. "Now I'm staying for personal reasons only."

"Look…"

"Chris. Or Chan. Whichever works for you." Chris -  _ or Chan _ \- adds a cheesy wink on top of it that Minho finds cute and terrible in equal measure.

"Look,  _ Chris _ . I'm not in-" Wait a minute. "Wait, you're Chris? Felix's Chris?"

The Chris that Felix 'totally doesn't have a crush on', but at the mention of whom he gets shy and blushy; the Chris Felix still hasn't told him how he even met, the Chris that's 'such a nice guy'.

Yeah, he seems like a  _ nice guy _ alright; he has probably tried to get into Felix's pants just like he just tried to get into Minho's, and the kid, bless his soul, fell for his bullshit. The urge to punch him in the face increases, and skyrockets at the poorly hidden discomfort that pulls at the corners of Chris' easy grin.

"I don't remember ever being  _ Felix's _ , but he  _ was _ the one who invited me here, if that's what you're asking." This time Chris is the one to break eye contact, to Minho’s satisfaction.

He shrugs, looking away too, drinking some more rum and coke. "He just told me about you before - he never told me what you looked like, though."

Unfortunately that seems to have given Chris some confidence back. "What  _ did _ he say about me, then?" He sounds almost amused - Minho imagines he thinks every conversation about him starts with a detailed description of how attractive he is.

Minho can't control the annoyed, hard line of his mouth when he swallows his distaste. "That you and your friend helped him with some baking."  _ That he's a good guy. Sweet, funny and talented. That he gets shy when he gets praised too much _ .

There's a certain level of desperation to how hard Minho tries to blend those two images together, of the shy, sweet upperclassman and the confident guy with rock hard muscle shoving through the armholes of his shirt next to him.

Maybe it's the weed that has him acting like this. Maybe, just like Minho, he has sides that he doesn't like to show to boys like Felix.

Chris laughs again. "You could say that."

_ What? _ Minho looks over at him, confused, and meets Chris' glassy eyes already looking at him.

Amusement is still tugging at the corner of his mouth, teasing a dimple out, when he clarifies. "We provided the ingredients. He did most of the baking."

_ The ingredients _ . "Did you make Felix make weed brownies for you?"

Chris snorts, looks away. "He didn't need a lot of convincing."

Of course he didn't, he adored this guy's stupid face for some reason. He probably jumped at the opportunity to have him come over, no matter the reason.

"Did you give him any of it?"

Chris seems a little taken aback by the question, but he answers, meeting his eyes again. "We offered; to pay him back for making them. He didn't want any. Why, is he in recovery or something? Innie said he wasn't into that scene."

_ Innie _ \- that had to have been the  _ friend _ that introduced Chris to Felix. It doesn't sound familiar, but then Minho hasn't really been too social this year.

"He's not. Which is why you should stay away from him." He lets some of what he keeps under the surface bleed into his tone. Reputation or not, if Chris is the top of the slip and slide that leads to Felix ending up surrounded with all the wrong people, then he needs to fuck off before Felix reaches him.

Colored by everything he's just found out, Chris' grin is insufferable. "That's what all that glaring is about? You're worried I'll corrupt the golden boy?" He leans in, and Minho fights the urge to shove him away again. "Don't be. I wouldn't give him anything he wouldn't ask for." His tone is surprisingly sincere. "It's not like he needs a stress reliever anyway, right? You, on the other hand…" And they're right back to teasing.

Minho rolls his eyes and drinks some more. He won't dignify that with an answer, even if everything sounds at least a little tempting when coming from between lips like those.

"Have you ever gotten high? I wasn't kidding when I said you looked miserable. I've got some pick-me-up for you if you're interested."

_ Have you ever gotten high _ . Minho would laugh if his chest wasn't almost too tight to breathe.

"What happened to 'I wouldn't give him anything he didn't ask for'?"

Chris shrugs, tilts his head a little. "It was just an offer - plus I think we both know you're nothing like Felix."

That makes Minho blink in surprise, but Chris doesn't even hesitate. If anything, he looks like he's challenging Minho to try and say otherwise. Minho wonders if he  _ knows _ , or if he's just taking a wild guess. Maybe he's seen him with his dealer before - Jisung supplies half the campus, Minho should have known relying on him would be too risky.

"I'm not interested."

Chris sighs, visibly disappointed, shifts a little. Only when he speaks up again does Minho realize that he shifted to show off the lines of his body more. "There's other pick-me-ups I can offer you that don't involve getting high."

"Desperate isn't a good look on you, Chris." What is  _ with _ him? He could just go hunt for an easier piece of ass, there's a girl staring at the way his arm flexes when he leans it against the counter while taking a tequila shot, right there on the other side of the kitchen.

"Are you any good at beer pong, Minho?"

It feels like getting blindsided from two directions at once, and his head spins for a minute as he stares at Chris.

"I don't remember giving you my name."

"Oh, that?" This time Chris' laugh sounds a little more subdued. "I asked Felix who you were. I don't really make a habit of just hitting on guys and hoping not to get punched in the face for assuming they're into guys."

"You asked Felix if I was into men?"

Chris shrugs.  _ Fuck _ . Fuck Minho's life, seriously. Fucking up the kid's dreams just by  _ existing _ at a party. He could imagine his face, could see him struggling to keep up his bright smile as he tells Chris the truth, even though lying would make it more likely for Chris to choose him tonight, to give him a chance to get what he wants. Felix is too much of a good kid to get what he wants. Minho's chest hurts. He knows how to get what he wants, but doesn't deserve it, and Felix deserves everything, but can't go out there and get it.

"He didn't out you, did he?" Chris actually sounds worried. Minho appreciates it, in a distant, dissociated way. The kitchen around them feels like it's slowly fading around the corners, reality peeling away bit by bit. It's just Minho, his thoughts, the tightening vice in his chest. He wonders if any of Chan's pick-me-ups are pills. It's starting to look increasingly like he won't make it through the night if he doesn't do  _ something _ . He needs to stay  _ safe _ , but he also needs something to ease the pressure. An image of him sunken into a couch in a drug-induced haze with Chan grinding in his lap comes to his mind, a little blurry around the edges, but pleasant.

"Minho?"

Right. Chris, and his question. "No. I've been out since high school." His voice comes out too quiet, but it's hard to take a breath deep enough to make it sound stronger.

"But you still don't want to fuck."

It's the most bold he's been all night, and it forces a laugh out of Minho. Yeah, he wants to fuck, he wants Chan on his knees in front of him in the bathroom, making him feel something else than the pain clawing at his chest, he wants to sob his name into his shoulder as Chris comes inside him, wants to pretend that the pleasure is the only reason for the tears.

He can't do that to Felix, though. Even if his crush on Chris is clearly doomed to end in heartbreak, Minho refuses to take part in making him sad. There's no dick in the world worth betraying Felix Lee for.

"No."

Chris nods his head, like he was expecting that answer. “Alright.” With how okay he sounds with that answer, Minho doesn’t expect his next move at all. He pushes away from the counter, but instead of moving away, he moves in front of Minho, his fingers catching in the belt loops of his slacks. It makes Minho painfully aware of their differences again. Chris’ ripped jeans and Minho’s slacks. Chris’ muscle tee and Minho’s button up. Minho’s barely held together composure and the wide, reddened, glassy depths of Chris’ eyes. If the circumstances were different… “Come play beer pong with me then.”

Minho wants to reach into his pocket, grope his ass while he looks for something, anything to ease the pain. Wants to devour his mouth like a remedy is going to pour out of it if he bites his lips hard enough.

He feels a tug on his pants. “Unless you’re that scared of losing.”

“You’re on.”

The smile that Chris gives him is so brilliant Minho almost doesn’t regret not really thinking his answer through until he’s being dragged by his wrist away from the kitchen. He promised Felix to watch the drinks. Felix is going to see him hang out with Chris. Does Dance Team Senior Minho Lee even  _ play _ beer pong? What if he gets drunk? What if Chris just wants him drunk so he’ll say yes next time he asks him if he wants to fuck. What if Chris just wants him unable to say no?

He slows almost to a stop behind Chris, who looks back, giving Minho a curious look. A  _ worried _ look. Why the fuck does this guy look so  _ worried _ , he just came over to Minho to get  _ laid _ .

“Everything okay?”

Minho stares at him for a long moment, then looks away, swallows. “I promised Felix I’d watch the kitchen.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Chris seems at a loss for words.

With a deep breath, Minho reaches into his back pocket. “I’ll just text the group chat, someone will take care of it.”

He pretends not to see the almost gentle smile Chris is giving him. “Sure. I’ll wait.” He lets go of his wrist to let him type, and the imprint of his warm fingers on Minho’s skin feels comforting even after the real thing is gone.

Hyunjin texts back immediately, before he even has a chance to lock his screen again, with a long row of question marks. True to form, Minho ignores it, tucks his phone back, and follows Chris to the beer pong table.

It turns out that Chris is pretty bad at beer pong, even though he keeps yelling about how he’s not usually like this. He jokes about Minho’s looks distracting him, but he doesn’t try to hit on him again, doesn’t touch him anywhere but his shoulders and back. At some point, Felix comes over to see what the commotion is about, and there’s a small smile on his face when Minho looks over.

The knot in his chest loosens somewhat. When he focuses on playing the game well, after he sees Felix isn’t upset, after Chris’ 25th indignant yell when he lands his shot perfectly, something in him settles a little. He can breathe again. Maybe he can make it for one more night.

Chris never leaves his side at that party, even after he’s too drunk to even stand, let alone shoot straight, he sits on the floor next to Minho who’s sitting on the couch with his head thrown back against the cushions. It turns out, Chris’ giggles when he’s crossfaded are adorable, his sloppy smile soft and his slurred words surprisingly gentle. Sometime during the night, Minho’s hand finds its way into his hair. It’s a little brittle and dry, but it curls in a way Minho’s fingers aren’t used to and the happy hum Chris lets out at the sensation of it is worth it.

Somehow Chris is still awake by the time the party winds down and the house gets quiet, he and Minho left behind in the living room while the owner of the house they’re in and a few of his friends clean up in the kitchen.

“Chris.”

It makes him look up - his eyes are so glassy and dazed, though, that Minho doubts that he actually sees him. “Yeah?” His voice is only a hoarse mumble.

“What the fuck was that?” Even to himself, he sounds too fond and amused for the words he’s using. He thought this guy was a douche a few hours ago. What happened?

Perhaps it has something to do with the way Chris rubs his cheek against Minho’s knee sleepily, like a cat looking for attention. “What the fuck was what?”

“Whatever you pulled earlier. Your whole ‘come play beer pong with me’ thing.”

He feels Chris’ cheek move against his leg when his mouth curls up in a smile. “I wanted to play beer pong with you?”

“ _ Chris _ .”

There’s a chill on his leg when Chris moves away, but it’s soothed quickly when he lays his chin on Minho’s thigh instead. “I just…” He bites the very corner of his bottom lip, and Minho can’t look away. “Earlier, you looked…” He frowns, pouts as he clearly looks for the right words to express how he feels. “Would’ve felt wrong. Leaving you alone.”

“I looked lonely?” He wondered if he was; he wondered if  _ Chris _ was lonely, and that’s why he spent whole nights entertaining strangers at house parties.

“You looked like you shouldn’t be left alone.”

Chris tries to meet his eyes, but Minho looks away. It lays heavy in his stomach. He’s okay. He’s doing okay. It takes a couple pills a day, and maybe he’s sometimes too dependent on his best friend, but he’s handling it. The self-destructive urges that still sometimes come up are nothing but a passing fancy.

Except for one, the one he’s had all night. The one that’s only been getting more and more vivid in his mind every time it floats up to the surface.

The urge to kiss Chris’ pretty mouth.

It threatens to pull him back down, to crush his chest again. Felix. He can’t disappoint Felix, but at the same time, some part of him just wants to have that memory, to own the knowledge of how Chan’s lips and tongue would feel against his, so he can replay it over and over again in his mind while he’s laying on his floor, high and relaxed, in his own personal haven. He wants all of Chan in his bank of good memories to look back on, not just his smile and his intoxicated giggles.

“Do you want to come sleep at my place?” The line between self care and self destruction feels blurry.

“I don’t think I can stand.” Chris is right - it bursts Minho’s bubble a little. The vision of Chris hungover, rumpled, grumpy but painfully attractive in the morning light gets further away.

“Think they’ll let you sleep on the couch here?”

As if he can’t keep his head up anymore, Chan shifts to let his cheek rest on the top of Minho’s thigh instead. “I dunno. Aren’t they  _ your _ friends?”

It feels wrong to say yes, even though he’s aware that the members of his dance team are all he cares about in this world these days. He wants to think they’re his friends, but then again, none of them know the real him. Or don’t acknowledge that he exists. Would any of them stick to his side the whole night if they noticed him spiralling? Would they sleepily drool on his pant leg, and would he let them get away with it?

"I guess.”

“Maybe if I suck the guy’s dick, he’ll let me sleep on a bed.”

Minho snorts, tugs at Chris’ hair a little. “He’s straight.”

“That’s what they all say.”

This time he giggles a little harder. “I wouldn’t risk it. He could always kick you out and let you sleep on the sidewalk.”

“It would probably be more comfortable than that couch.” Chris nuzzles his leg again, rubs his nose against it hard. “You’re more comfortable.”

“You’re drooling.”

“‘S your fault. Beat me at pong too hard.”

“You were the one who suggested it.”

“Shut up.”

Minho never wants the night to end. Never wants to lose the feeling spreading in his chest, so different from the usual feeling pressing down on it. This is a sweet suffocation he can’t get enough of. He wants to breathe this warmth in until his lungs are full of it and he drowns.

He watches Chris drift off into sleep. His eyelids feel heavy too, an imprint of a dimpled smile on the back of them that beckons him in, lures him into following Chris into unconsciousness, just like he followed him out of the kitchen before.

When he sleeps, he dreams of freedom. Of sharing a joint and laughing, teasing, shouting, flirting, kissing until he goes breathless and the mouth under his feels hot and swollen. He dreams of touching and pushing and pulling without thinking about consequences, about strong hands on his body and firm shoulders under his fingers, about warm nights and easy mornings. About wandering the streets and night and not feeling loneliness weigh on him when he lays on the floor in his dorm anymore, because there’s a weight on his leg reminding him why he always has to climb down from his high eventually. Reminding him why staying safe isn’t the most important thing in his life. Reminding him that he needs to live. Should live. Wants to live.

By the time he gets up, Chris is gone. His dance team friend questions him cautiously about “that guy from yesterday” as he hands him a glass of water when he walks into the kitchen to thank him for letting him stay. Minho doesn’t know what to say - does he risk his reputation by admitting that they met for the first time last night, or does he risk his reputation by pretending that he hangs out with people like him?

In the end he pretends to be too hungover to remember much and pretends not to see the disappointment on his team mate’s face. So much for the responsible senior Minho who takes care of the others well.

He says his goodbyes, crawls back to his dorm, finds the rest of his pills and downs everything that’s left, reasonably convinced that it’s not enough to actually overdose, and lays down on the floor. Everything except him and the feeling of the carpet against his skin goes blurry, and Minho tries to recall the dreams he’s just had. He forgot to put his favorite playlist on, but the soft giggles echoing in his mind fill up the quiet perfectly.


End file.
